


Exhaustion

by HackerAxe



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Paranoia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:27:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22364854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HackerAxe/pseuds/HackerAxe
Summary: "Can the man who brings so much death fear it himself? Maybe it isn't death that the cowardly bringer fears. Perhaps the absence of the weight of life the very release he seeks deep down.""Perhaps, it is the dead who reside in the afterlife that awaits him he fears. The ghosts he sees every night, pulling the strings to make that event come sooner, rather than later."
Relationships: Micah Bell/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 7
Kudos: 43





	Exhaustion

He was shaking from his shoulders to his fidgeting hands. Alone, secluded, separated from everyone else -- it all was futile in preventing the crowd of shouts he heard at every corner of his skull. He was out of breath from running, yet he hadn't moved from his exile in hours. Not even sleep helped him escape, for it never has. It never will. It was all drowning in now, the constant noise. The shouting, always shouting. Gunfire always drowned it out, screams of death did it even more, but hiding away made him less of a man. 

At least that's what Daddy always said, he would say quite a lot. He imprinted every word to memory just as he wanted. He did everything as he wanted, but it was all wrong. How many more mistakes could he run from? How many more witnesses to it could he kill? Was it all worth it? The dead rose from the earth the moment his eyelids would fall, and they could recall every instance of it as quickly as he could his father's words. Together, the mass of shouts and disdain all from faces smeared by time could weave unbreakable threads. 

Threads into strings.

Strings into rope.

Rope that pulled tighter on his already weary body. How much longer could he run? His squeaking wheezes said not very long.

A snake without venom has nothing but an uncomfortable bite, and it was all Micah was. Vulnerable for the hawks above, who learned how to fly through the free airs. Seldom does a hawk stay grounded on the cold ground, made out of pounds of remnants of the past. On the ground the vulnerable snake, shaking at the imminent death he will never see, must stay wary. The pots clacking, branches falling, the other's footsteps, their voice, one's concern -- it snapped his eyes to and fro. They were coming, for his past actions must have made him forget.

That he has no place of his own.

He was not born to be a man, but a meer task in a line of many in a generation.

He was hopeless on his own.

Forgettable.

Disposable.

Lackluster.

Weak.

Pale.

Withering.

Keeling.

Wheezing.

Near heartless.

Gripping at his chest, he couldn't have been that. No heartless man would be pained in his heart. The world had turned sideways for him, and everything had become discolored. It had happened once again, but now Daddy wasn't here to help him. He might have been in his guns, but never anywhere else. The kettle he nearly forgot about was too far away, and fear had paralyzed his body for the entirety of the day prior. If he could get away from the noise, perhaps he could have gotten there quicker.

But they condemned it. Crushed his hands to stay. Held his head onto years worth of dry, infertile soil. Suffocating further into years worth of rot most just walk right over. The harder Micah tried, the shakier his limbs became. The harder he attempted to speak, the farther air seemed to be from him.

The farther helped seemed to be. He was losing vision, losing himself. By now, all of his thoughts spat on what they wished to be his lifeless body, disgusted in his weak display. He could fish through the crowd all he liked, but each and every person was just another smudged face. An unrecognizable voice.

Was there no one in the sea of shouts he could turn to? No one to argue the contrary? Was there anyone there?

Perhaps. Perhaps there was, but much stronger than the others. He needn't shout nor choke, only a soft touch on Micah's chin was all he needed. A gentle reassurance, a gesture to breathe. There were coughs, but no more strain. His heart was fast, but it would slow with time. Most notably, things became quieter. Having blacked out from the chaos, his first waking sight was his lover.

"Everything alright?" Arthur whispered, his arm keeping Micah very close to the side of his body.

There was no response, only instinctual resistance. A snake's weak hiss was all he had to keep potential threats away, but Arthur was no hawk. Arthur held Micah steady and kept him snug against his blue coat. 

"Hey now, hey... easy." Arthur attempted once more to calm him, but Micah was still far from at ease.

"Did anyone see what happened?" Micah asked quickly to the point. A stranger may have thought Micah was angered from Arthur's act of kindness, but Arthur knew better than that. He pitied his reliance on the defense in fact.

"No, I had it covered. Anyone who came sniffin' about I just told that I had it, no one bothered-"

"They're going to kill me, cowpoke- can't you feel it?" Micah croaked, his pale skin looking more sticky and green by the moment. "They'll slit my throat. If I sleep they'll slit m'damn throat!"

Arthur blinked, not knowing quite how to handle Micah's sudden panic. Regardless, he would try his best. It was all like calming a panicked horse -- sometimes it was better to have some distance and take things slow. "It's... okay, Micah. I ain't quite sure what yer talkin' about, no one is out to kill nobody here-"

"Don't you see how they look at me? Charles? Abigail? That old man Hosea? Christ, even Dutch sometimes- no. Especially Dutch - they're goin' kill me in the end!" Micah struggled to catch his breath, even though he had just gotten it back. "They're plottin' to end it all, Morgan, I ain't right, I ain't doin' enough, they're gonna have me hung!"

The rope woven under the pressure of all the shouts had finally broken loose, and Micah snapped in a screech.

"They're going to KILL ME!!"

That moment was the moment Arthur sprang into action and took matters into his own hands. And quite literally. Arthur pulled Micah back from escaping and covered his mouth, keeping his head tucked in close. It was time to get away from the eyes of others.

Once Arthur forced Micah off of his feet and gently dragged him closer to the quiet cliffs of Horseshoe Overlook, he set him down. Down with him came what little Micah had eaten prior over the cliff. Arthur frowned, then just rubbed his back. It was rare he would let his somber colors show like this, and while it pained him to see Micah in such a state, Arthur appreciated the trust Micah had in him to let him be there in his lowest moments.

“If this is about a couple days ago… it ain’t yer fault.”

Micah coughed hoarsely before hissing out, “Stop it, yes it is…”

“Only if y’keep thinkin’ so, Micah. You’re tearin’ yer damn self apart n’ tryin’ to take on the whole world ever since you made that mistake.”

“We need money, Morgan… it’s the only way we’re goin’ to survive.”

“We need money, but we don’t need you killin’ yourself nearly 20 hours a day, tryin’ to hunt, rob n’ kill every damn feller you can just to make a few dollars. Look at yourself, you’re getting sick and goin’ nuts.”

“I’m fine. I’m alive and I’m earnin’ my keep and makin’ up for mistakes like a man should-”

No sooner was Micah’s repeated monologue interrupted by a loving palm on his sick cheek.

“Listen to me Micah, please,” Arthur pleaded. “You’re not fine, and you damn well near look like shit -- you need to lay down-”

“No, no no no if I sleep they-”

Then, both hands laid on Micah’s cheeks, quieting him completely.

“No one is goin’ to kill you. Nobody here. Not me, not Dutch, not _nobody_ , understand? It’s okay… just repeat after me, it’s okay.”

“It’s… okay,” Micah hesitantly repeated.

“Yes, yes,” Arthur began, slowly touching his forehead with Micah’s.

“Yes… it’s okay. That feel better?” Micah’s gentle nod said yes, even if he couldn’t maintain much eye contact.

“This all is stayin’ between you and me, right Morgan?” Micah asked while Arthur helped him up to his feet, guiding him back to Arthur’s tent.

“You kiddin’ me? Of course it is… I said you don’t gotta worry ‘bout them things.” Arthur took Micah’s black kettle with him, hot and ready with all the proper herbs he needed, and started to help him to bed. His aching body, finally ceasing all of its trembles, laid still and at ease with a relaxed sigh. He hadn’t realized how tired he was until his back squealed against the comfortable mat. The back of Arthur’s hand laid against his forehead then rubbed gently down and across his cheek, and soon back up to push back the hair beginning to stick on his sweating face.

“You might be here a while darlin’,” Arthur admitted. “You’re really gettin’ under the weather. I’ll get you some water later, but y’need anything now?”

When Micah meekly shook his head, Arthur nodded his and parted with a kiss to his forehead. But, before Arthur could leave to attend to something, Micah called out again.

“Wait, uh… if it’s not too much trouble, could you sit a minute?” Blinking at Micah’s invitation a minute, Arthur took off his hat and rejoined him. He was awful at words, but Arthur knew exactly what he meant. He’s done it before -- he was lonely. In this state, it wouldn’t be long until he’d fall asleep, and Arthur’s tasks could wait until then.

“You finally ready to talk a little?” Arthur gently encouraged. “You have my ear, I’m all yours.”

Words were hard for him to deliver, and he was fortunate someone could receive them on their own. The knife to cut the binding rope, the buck to ward off the hawks, and the voice that rang louder than the shouts. Arthur had finally stopped Micah from running.

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies in advance if the writing in this particular one-shot seems different from other one-shots I've written. This was an in-the-moment writing that I ended up liking after the product was finished, and decided that perhaps others would like it as well!
> 
> As for my Redemption fic, I wanted to make an announcement about it: As I'm unsure about the near future with my progressive burning-out from the Red Dead series, the series may or may not be completely written OR be what it was originally intended to be, a series of loosely connected yet progressing one-shots under one name. While I do have a general outline of what happens in the story start to finish, writing each of what happens is a more difficult task. I apologize for any inconveniences:
> 
> However, if you like my writing and like to see thoroughly answered, heartfelt roleplay responses regarding a 'redeemed' version of Micah Bell I recommend this tumblr blog of mine!: (https://www.tumblr.com/blog/redeemed-micah-bell)


End file.
